


on these new york streets where you and I would meet

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (more or less), Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, I Blame Tumblr, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Irish Language, M/M, Robb Stark is a Gift, i should thank martin scorsese because I kind of based this on two things he was involved in ops, what passes for fluff in this circumstance I suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>His parents didn’t like Theon when they were children and lived next to each other in Eochaill, never mind that Theon’s family hated being in Ireland in the first place, so they never warmed up to each other. When then they turned to be neighbors also here in New York – they never quite stopped them from seeing each other, but it was clear that Theon’s family hates Robb’s guts for a number of reasons, him being Irish not the least. And his parents’ opinion of Theon is that maybe he wouldn’t be that bad on his own but he’s from a family of criminals, why would Robb even want to give him the time of the day?</i>
</p>
<p>In which Robb being a cop and Theon's family being neck-deep in criminal activity should be enough of a deterrent for the two of them being friends in the first place. It's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on these new york streets where you and I would meet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CafeLeningrad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CafeLeningrad/gifts).



> Sooo, like a fairly long while ago I got a prompt by tumblr user cafeleningrad where they asked if I'd consider writing a throbb 1930s Gangster!AU. As 1930s AUs are fairly on my list of 'this is my kryptonite' I totally went like OH YES I COULD DO IT and then it took me months to polish/finish it because I'm lazy and easily distracted but anyway here we go I'm done. It's not... _really_ gangsters because it's basically just one of them actually not wanting to have anything to do with the life but I tried /o\ 
> 
> Necessary disclaimers: the only thing in Irish that's actually spoken in this fic was confirmed to me by ten different websites so I just hope that the internet wasn't lying to me. If it was, feel free to notify me. Many thanks to tumblr user pclyjuicepotion for suggesting me plausible Irish places where these two could have lived at some point without knowing what I was gonna use it for. The title is from the Gaslight Anthem, nothing belongs to me and if any of you, while midway through, starts wondering 'did she watch Mean Streets just before writing this or what', the answer is yes, you totally guessed right. Don't worry it ends a lot better than that and they aren't as dumb as the people from that movie. Also it probably shows I loved Boardwalk Empire. And okay I'm done forreal now.

“We should stop meeting like this,” Robb says as he drops in the seat in front of Theon’s – the lights in the bar are dim and Theon’s at his third cigarette, from what he sees in the ashtray.

Also, there’s already a bottle of whiskey on the table, a clean glass ready next to it.

Theon snorts and takes a drink after blowing out smoke at his side.

“Does that mean we should stop meeting at all then?”

He doesn’t sound overtly sad about the entire thing, probably because Robb tells him that same thing every time and never comes through with it. Of course he wouldn’t.

Even if he’d risk losing his job if someone he knows were to see him, but thankfully whoever in his line of work enjoys frequenting this kind of establishment when the point is not shutting it down, wouldn’t rat on anyone else doing it.

He sighs and pours himself some whiskey.

“Look at me, arresting criminals during the day and _buying alcohol_ at night.”

“Not my fault if people can’t vote right in this bloody country. Who even _outlaws_ alcohol, fuck this.”

“Amen,” Robb says, taking a sip from his glass. He personally thinks it’s a completely stupid idea because people _will_ buy alcohol illegally if they can’t do it legally, and it shows because the place is full, but he hasn’t bothered applying for citizenship for a reason, has he? And neither has Theon.

Theon takes another drink and takes another few drags on his cigarette before leaning his elbows down on the table and moving closer.

“Listen, on to serious matters.” He chunks some ash in the ashtray, takes another drag – damn, if he’s this nervous it can’t mean good news.

“Serious?”

“Fucking so. Do you think you can convince your parents to close up shop for the weekend?”

For a moment, Robb is taken aback.

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me the first time. Is there any chance you can convince them to grab your siblings and I don’t know, go to the beach in Jersey or something and spend the weekend there?”

Robb shakes his head. “Theon. It’s _Independence Day_. And it’s a week-end. Which means they’d lose a considerable amount of money if they closed the restaurant just those two days. I’m going to need more of an explanation.”

Theon sighs, notices that he’s almost at the end of his cigarette and curses under his breath. First he finishes the whiskey he had in the glass, then he takes a fresh cigarette out of his packet – it’s the last one – and lights it again.

Robb doesn’t like how much he’s smoking – Theon usually never has this many cigarettes in a row. This has to be about his father or his relatives. There’s no other reason he might be this nervous. Certainly he isn’t because they’re doing something illegal – Theon’s been doing illegal shit since they were twelve, drinking whiskey won’t be what sets him on edge.

“If you tell them that I said they should close up shop won’t it be enough? Or would that imply them lecturing you?”

“Both, probably,” Robb admits. His parents didn’t like Theon when they were children and lived next to each other in Eochaill, never mind that Theon’s family hated being in Ireland in the first place, so they never warmed up to each other. When then they turned to be neighbors also here in New York – they never quite stopped them from seeing each other, but it was clear that Theon’s family hates Robb’s guts for a number of reasons, him being Irish not the least. And his parents’ opinion of Theon is that maybe he wouldn’t be that bad on his own but he’s from a family of criminals, why would Robb even want to give him the time of the day?

Anyway, they never tell him outright, but his father always looks slightly disappointed when Robb lets slip out that they saw each other recently.

“You know I can’t tell you,” Theon sighs, sounding pained. “I mean. If you had chosen _any other bloody job in the world_ I could have, but if I tell you I know you won’t keep it to yourself because it’s your own fucking job description. And it’s fine, it’s what you should do, but – Robb, listen, really, just convince them to go to the fucking seaside. They don’t close up shop even at Christmas Eve, they can take a couple days.”

“Well,” Robb says slowly, “Sansa _has_ been asking them to go to Atlantic City to visit Jon for a weekend, maybe I can just tell them I organized it and put it as if it was my idea. Or something. But –”

“It is necessary.”

“Fine. Fine, I’ll see what I can do. And how are you?”

Theon loosens up the knot on his tie and looks down at the half-full ashtray. “I could do worse.”

And that is when Robb notices that he’s keeping the left half of his face turned away from him as much as he can.

He wordlessly reaches forward and puts his fingers on Theon’s chin, making him turn it – yeah. What he had thought.

“And who put that on your face?” _That_ being the eggplant-colored bruise blossoming on Theon’s cheek right now.

“Shit, you never miss anything, don’t you?”

“Theon, I’m a cop. I’m trained to _not_ miss that kinda thing, never mind that I didn’t miss it when we were fifteen anyway.”

Theon doesn’t deny it. It’s not like he didn’t come to Robb’s to get bruises iced every other day, when they were kids.

He keeps on smoking, but when Robb’s hand covers his wrist – making sure it’s out of the candlelight – he doesn’t move it away.

“You don’t want to know that either,” he finally says. “Really, it’s nothing. Just the usual.”

“You’re lying.”

“Wait, how –”

“I’ve known you most of my life, I can hear it when you lie. You don’t have to tell me, but – you know that you can, right?”

“I know. And I wish I could,” he answers tiredly. “But – not now. Hey, do you have to go back before curfew or can you take a walk? I’m going stir crazy in here.”

Huh. This is weird – Theon never presses for the two of them going anywhere in public.

For understandable reasons, of course.

“And where did you want to go? I mean, didn’t you say –”

“I know what I said. Just follow me. Might be that I’m drunk enough to think it’s a good idea,” Theon mutters. Then he notices that there’s still a quarter of the bottle left – Robb should get worried when he drinks all of it in one go and then stands up without his balance being affected overtly. But then he heads out and Robb follows him – they get out of the back door of the building, never mind that the bar is in some kind of basement, so they’re right in the middle of a fairly small and smelly back alley. Theon makes a disgusted face and then –

“Wait, you’re drunk, you can’t _climb the emergency stairs_ –”

“Watch me,” Theon smirks, and then the bastard starts climbing them in his entirely too fancy suit and polished shoes and dark coat.

Robb shakes his head and goes after him, ending up on the bloody rooftop. When he gets there Theon’s already sitting cross-legged next to the edge – he took off his shoes and kept the coat on.

Robb moves up next to him, letting his legs dangle over the ledge.

“Do you have a death wish or something?” He huffs. “I mean, not that I’m going to arrest you for this, but you could have fallen down.”

“I can handle my alcohol,” Theon smirks, “and that dump is – well, a dump. Not that this entire fucking area is that much better.”

Robb can’t argue with it – as far as he was concerned when they moved here fifteen years ago, the only improvement Hell’s Kitchen had over his hometown was that at least here there were two full meals each day for everyone and both his parents could work. And he recognizes that it was indeed an improvement, but –

“Can’t disagree. Damn, sometimes I miss Eochaill. At least you could see the stars at night and there wasn’t someone out to get you at every corner. And not every house smelled of brewery.”

“If you weren’t this much of a martyr you wouldn’t have _people out to get you_. But yeah, can’t argue. Shit, I miss that too. Without waxing poetical, at least there was clean air.”

Robb isn’t going to point out to him that smoking as much as he does doesn’t help that cause. “And the food was better.”

“When there was some.”

“Right, that’s also true, but – I still miss it.”

“Figures you would. Guess my dad wouldn’t figure that _I_ would, though.”

No, he wouldn’t. As far as Robb knows, Theon is the only Greyjoy around who actually liked Ireland. His sister didn’t hate it, sure, but for the year they were neighbors over there, Theon did seem to positively love the place. Which hadn’t helped at all.

Robb looks up – no stars to be seen, of course.

“It would be nice to go back for a bit,” he muses.

“Wouldn’t it,” Theon sighs back. They both know it’s not in the cards – as if there’s something left for them to go back to. Robb knows that his parents sold their small family house to have money to buy out the restaurant they run here and Theon’s father certainly never owned a house. But at least Robb has a regular paycheck that might maybe make him save enough to move somewhere nicer.

“I’ll make my parents take that vacation,” Robb says after a long moment.

“Good.”

“And shouldn’t we get down before that whiskey gets to your head?”

“Maybe. You’re such a sensible prick,” Theon sighs, but he does stand up. He sways a bit, but then his legs become steady again and he manages to not fall down and break his neck as they climb down the stairs, even if he looks a bit woozy when they finally step go back down to the alley.

“Someone out of the two of us has to be a sensible prick,” Robb says putting a hand on his arm. “So, see you next week, same time?”

For a moment Theon doesn’t answer, and it’s weird because why would he think about it, they always meet on the same day and at the same time, but then he gives Robb a half-smile and right, he’s more or less drunk, Robb probably just startled him.

“Sure,” he says, almost too quickly. “I’ll be there. Try not to tan too much when you go to fucking Jersey.”

“Will do, a mhuirnín.”

“Will it ever come the day when you stop insulting me in your precious language?” Theon sighs fondly, and Robb – yeah, Robb isn’t going to come clear about that anytime soon.

Thing is, he once called Theon like that on complete accident when they were sixteen and he had drunk some, too, and therefore wasn’t completely sober. He was sober enough to realize what he had done and save himself by telling Theon it meant that he was an idiot, and since Theon never asked him to teach him the language or anything he never ended up correcting it.

And he never will. Hey, until Theon keeps on thinking it’s some affectionate way to insult him, he won’t suspect it actually means _darling_.

\--

He calls Jon and organizes the entire thing – bless his cousin-who-is-pretty-much-a-brother-at-this-point for not asking him what prompted it, since he knows that his parents surely wouldn’t consider closing the restaurant for Independence Day on their own. He would know indeed – he hasn’t grown up with all of them and come with them when they moved for nothing.

Then when he goes home and presents the entire deal to his parents they have no way to refuse that after Sansa goes undoubtedly excited over it and rushes by to hug him, and not when everyone else looks grateful to spend a weekend outside the city. His father looks at him as if he knows it wasn’t a totally spontaneous idea, but he doesn’t press.

They go to Atlantic City.

The kids are ecstatic when they get there – it’s not just the seaside, Robb figures, it’s also that all the boardwalk is filled with stands selling food, fireworks and the likes, and it’s nice to see his parents relax for a bit. He can’t quite bring himself to go for it completely, though – he divides his time equally between everyone, goes for a swim or two, tries not to succumb to the urge to check in at work. Thankfully he was given a leave without too much fuss.

Clearly it doesn’t fool Jon one bit – on the fourth, while everyone else is watching the fireworks, Jon stays back with him, stares at him for a moment and then says what he’s probably want to tell Robb for a while.

“This wasn’t just a vacation, was it?”

Robb sighs and figures there’s no reason to keep on lying.

“It is as far as they’re concerned.”

“Fine. Let’s say that I’m completely off the clock and you can tell me everything. Come on, what prompted it? Or better, who.”

Sometimes Robb hates that Jon works for a fucking PI agency – it’s made him even more observant than usual, and he always was an observant little shit.

“Theon. Or better, he said that it would be advisable if we all weren’t around during the weekend. I didn’t ask for clarifications.”

“’Course you wouldn’t. I hope your bosses never find out you’re friends,” Jon sighs, but he doesn’t sound judging at all.

“Guess they don’t yet. Anyway, if I told them he said it it’d just – you know how it would’ve gone. And I trust him to have a good reason for asking.”

“I know,” Jon says. “And I know he’s not cut for that lifestyle anyway. I hope that his dad doesn’t know that you’re still friends more than I hope your boss never finds out, actually.”

Right, because Jon _did_ have a few run ins with Theon’s dad before deciding to pack up his bags and relocate to the Jersey branch of the PI agency he worked for with a couple of his friends – it probably wasn’t a bad idea.

“Here’s to hoping. I hope that this place isn’t half as pretentious as it is right now on regular days.”

Jon snorts openly. “Not as much, but just the fact that I don’t know anyone already is worth it.”

Good point. He left also because his job choice didn’t help, not when he was surrounded by people who knew who he was, and who had known him for years. Robb would know how that feels, indeed, but at least he doesn’t have to be friends with any of the criminals he grew up with. And he doesn’t need them to cooperate for information – he’s the enemy anyway.

“By the way, are _you_ all right? Because I remember that back before I left you hid the minatory letters from your mother, and I can’t believe things suddenly got better.”

Robb shudders. “Er. I – I kind of told Arya to man the mail and to make sure they don’t see anything of the kind.”

“Robb, Arya’s _fourteen_.”

“And no one in the next ten blocks over has bothered her since she punched that nephew of Walder Frey’s in the face so hard she broke his nose. She can handle it.”

“And how many of those letters do you get?”

Robb thinks about the last batch of mail Arya gave him.

“About ten each week, but sometimes more,” he sighs.

“Jesus.” Jon takes out a packet of cigarettes, turns it in his hands and then puts it back in place. “I’m trying to quit, but you’re making it hard right now. Are you sure you don’t want one?”

“No, but thanks for asking. I’d rather have a drink, but –”

“I can bring you over to some place I know later,” Jon offers. “That stated, maybe you should think about relocating, too.”

“Yeah, no,” he answers at once. “If I had to _relocate_ I’d just go back to Ireland.”

“You really do miss it, don’t you?”

Robb shrugs – he gets why Jon wouldn’t as much. After all, he came to stay with them when he was seven. He liked it, but he didn’t _grow up_ there.

“I do. And at this point – it’s not that I _like_ fucking Hell’s Kitchen, but I’d end up getting that mail anywhere else as long as I do what I do.”

“You really are too good for those people. Try not to get yourself killed, will you?”

Robb smiles at him and nods before turning back to look at the fireworks.

He’ll try, for sure.

\--

They come home on Monday morning and Robb realizes at once why Theon was so adamant on them leaving.

Considering that the shop next door to the restaurant is in ruins he can only imagine what happened – the moment they arrive they see police around the area. The glass windows are all broken and he can see that someone shot through them, the inside is devastated and the thing is that the owners had just left it for rent a few months ago before leaving. He asks Jon Umber, his direct superior, who tells him that it was a good thing they were out of town – looks like someone was illegally brewing alcohol in the basement (so that was what that weird smell was about lately), and some rival gang decided to put an end to it. Eventually there was a shootout on the fourth of July, and the tally is a few criminals in the hospitals and a few dead passersby.

Robb shudders.

“Did you know about that?” His father asks him later, when everyone else has turned in.

“Uhm,” Robb mutters, “there were rumors at the station that there might be something going down in the area. But I swear, I heard about it after asking Jon if he was fine with having us over on that weekend.”

“You swear,” Ned Stark says.

“I – I do?”

His father huffs, then shakes his head. “You always were a horrible liar, but fine, you didn’t know. Was _he_ involved?”

“Dad, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.”

The conversation dies there and Robb lets out a breath of relief when his father finally turns in, but – right. Theon had to know. And of course he didn’t tell Robb, because he would have found a way to prevent it from happening.

Shit.

Robb really hopes that _he_ wasn’t involved.

\--

The next week, Theon doesn’t show up at the usual bar.

Robb waits for him for one hour and then heads back home, cursing under his breath and hoping that maybe it’s just a setback and that he’ll be back next week. God, he’d better be, because he can’t certainly check on him at his house. Not when he’d probably get shot on sight if he tried to walk into that part of the neighborhood. And he can’t phone him or anything – as if he still has the number.

Damn.

He doesn’t sleep that night, and everyone at his precinct notices it the next day, but they don’t ask questions and Robb spends his shift arresting petty criminals, breaking into illegal breweries that will be fully active again in a few weeks and hopes that it was just a fluke.

He will come next week. He has to.

\--

Theon’s not there the second week, either.

Robb waits half an hour, considers his options and then decides that he’s going to have to take the risk – at least there’s half a chance he won’t get shot on sight even if he doubts that he will get any serious information.

He heads out to Washington Heights and goes straight for the bar where Asha Greyjoy works – it’s out of Hell’s Kitchen and far away from the area where her relatives mostly hang. Also, she’s out of the family business, good for her, but she also is in contact with all her relatives. She’s the only one who somehow has good relations with all of said relatives and also, she tolerates him, which is more than he can say for any other relative of Theon’s – if the bar isn’t full tonight maybe there’s a chance he might talk to her.

He’s lucky – it’s almost empty and she’s serving behind the counter.

He sits down at the stool and waits for her – she comes a moment later and her mouth turns into a thin line when she recognizes him.

“What would you like, a death wish?” She asks, cleaning the counter.

“No. I’d like two things. One is a bourbon, and don’t tell me that you don’t have any because I know you do. And the second is – I want to know where the hell is your brother.”

Asha stares straight at him.

“ _You_ are asking me where Theon is? You should know out of everyone.”

“Well, we usually see each other every week at the same place and at the same time. He never misses and if he has to he lets me know somehow. And he hasn’t come twice in a row and I haven’t known either way.”

Asha shakes her head, reaches under the counter and pours him a drink, sliding it over.

“Right. And did he tell you anything, the last time you saw each other?”

Robb swallows. No point in lying.

“He told me that I should convince my parents to close up shop on Independence Day.”

“Fuck,” Asha says under her breath. “Just that?”

“Just that. I didn’t press and he told me he couldn’t say anything else.”

“So you haven’t, you know, ratted –”

“Asha, for – I might be one of the few cops in this part of town that aren’t dirty, but I wouldn’t tell anyone stuff that might get him in trouble. I convinced my parents to go to fucking Atlantic City. I didn’t tell anyone. If I had do you think people could have emptied ten different kinds of shotgun into the shop next door without anyone trying to stop them?”

“I guess you have a point,” she sighs. “Right. Listen, I haven’t seen him in two months and I can’t guarantee you anything, but you’ll know it if I find something out. Now finish that drink and get the fuck out, the last thing I need is my dad questioning me on how you were into my fine establishment.”

“As if you can’t have a drink in whichever place you choose,” Robb snorts, but then he downs his bourbon and leaves the premises.

_You’ll know_ , she said. She’d better deliver on that.

\--

Two days later, Arya hands him the mail telling him there was a weird letter in the usual bunch of death threats.

Robb throws in the fire the usual drivel that he doesn’t even read by now and – right. There’s one without return address, but on the back there’s a scrabbled urgent and he thinks that’s Asha’s writing.

Shit.

He opens it and takes the piece of paper out.

_Go to the Dreadfort as soon as you can and for the love of everything you hold dear don’t fucking do it without back up. If you can’t find it don’t go at night_.

Oh, hell. The Dreadfort is how people in the area not so affectionately call the block where the Boltons operate. How the fuck did Theon end up in the hands of two bloody heroin traffickers he doesn’t know, but this is a damned problem, because _no one_ is going to give him back up at this time of the night especially for something off the books. And it’s barely ten in the evening – no way Robb is letting Theon in there until morning, whatever happens.

Well, damn it, he’s going to have to make do.

He goes looking for Arya.

“Hey,” he tells her, “do you still talk to that Gendry kid? The one who works at the hardware store on the corner?”

“Uh, yes? Why?”

“Can he drive?”

“He can,” Arya says slowly. “He’s not very good at it, though. Why?”

“Doesn’t matter. Do you think he might want to earn some extra money?”

“Robb, _what’s going on_?”

“Just answer me.”

“He would. But –”

“All right. Where do I find him?”

“I’m telling you just if you take me along.”

“ _Arya_ , Mom and Dad would skin me alive. You’re fifteen. I’m not –”

“Gendry’s a lot worse than me at punching people.”

As if Robb needs that skill.

Whatever. His parents will skin him alive either way, he figures.

“You can come, but you do exactly as I say and you don’t give your opinion on anything. Got it?”

It’s probably mildly worrying that his sister smiles like the cat who just ate the cream, but he has no time to ponder it any further.

\--

“So – should we just _wait_?”

“Arya, if you think you’re coming in with me you’re mad. Yes, you two wait here. The moment you see me coming out of the place you warn Gendry, who’s going to turn the engine on, and the moment we get inside the car you drive the hell out of Dodge. Clear?”

“Perfectly,” Gendry replies, putting a hand on Arya’s arm. “Crystal. And I’m not volunteering to go inside with you.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to ask. And if you see anything weird or suspicious people come to look at you, _drive_. I’ll handle myself in case.”

“Fine, boss, got it.”

“Great. I mean it.”

He gets out of the car, not caring that his sister’s legitimately pouting, and heads for the damned warehouse – good thing all the lights are off. Maybe there’s half a chance he can go in and get out without everyone noticing and without needing to explain himself to fifteen of his superior officers if he’s caught doing this off duty.

\--

“ _Drive_ ,” he pretty much shouts at Gendry not long later as he throws Theon’s dead weight along with himself in the backseat.

Gendry does and a moment later Robb understands why his sister said _he wasn’t very good at it_ , but as long as he gets them the fuck out of here it’s good.

“Uh, where do I go?” Gendry says as he tries to keep the steering wheel straight.

“I don’t know, far. Then we can go back home, but take a long detour.”

“Robb, what the hell –” Arya starts, and then sees how Theon looks like. “What the _fuck_ ,” she swears.

“Yeah, what I thought,” Robb sighs as he manages to sit Theon up against the backdoor and tries to get a decent look at him – hard, since the car is swaying, but it looks worse than it did in the warehouse. Where he was chained to a fucking wall, in a basement, in a way worthy of the worst-written pulp novels they used to read in secret when they were fourteen. But it had been dark and Robb hadn’t really seen much except that for a lot of bruises, never mind that Theon was out of commission when he grabbed him and he hadn’t time to look further.

Now he can see that other than the black eye, split lip and a green bruise on the side of his face, there’s a badly placed bandage on Theon’s collarbone that says nothing good, and one on his hand where _his fucking ring finger should have been_ , and considering that Theon moaned out in pain the moment his back hit the door Robb has a inkling that his back must have been hurt too. Fuck.

“Gendry, where are we?”

“Uh, headed for the ferry to Staten Island? I think?”

“Okay, you can slow down. We should be far out enough.”

“Thank fuck,” Gendry whispers as he does, and then Theon opens his eyes and first he looks pained, then panicked, and then he sees that it’s him and –

“Robb?” He croaks, and Robb notices that he doesn’t have a couple of teeth anymore and _what the hell did happen in there Jesus Christ_.

“Did you think I was going to not look for you after you missed your appointment two weeks in a row?” Robb just says. “Shit, I was worried sick, _what even happened_?”

Theon shrugs and then hisses in pain again.

“My illustrious father decided it was time for me to, in his words, _learn some real tricks of the trade_. And since he had an inkling I had told you to get your parents out of town, he decided it should happen soon. And since he’s very much in business with Bolton he thought I should learn with _them_. Turns out I wasn’t really up for it and that Bolton’s son wasn’t pleased. Shit, what did you even do?”

“I asked your sister,” Robb sighs, moving closer. “She asked around and told me you were there. And I need to patch you up, but if we go home they might see us. Arya, where are we already?”

“Somewhere around the East Village.”

“Shit.” Robb tries to recall if anyone at the precinct owes him any favors.

Then he realizes that even if they did, no favor would be huge enough to cover for this.

“Gendry, do you think you can drive to Atlantic City?” he finally asks.

“Uh, guess I could. If I slow down.”

“Good. Arya, be glad, you’re going to see Jon again very shortly.”

“Shouldn’t we warn him?”

“Maybe, but like hell I’m going to stop and look for a phone. And I think he might have had an inkling that it might happen.”

“Mom will have your hide for making me miss school,” Arya says without sounding any sadder about it.

“I’ll deal with Mom.” He moves so that Theon can just sit up against the seat normally – no point in staying in that position if he can’t do anything.

He doesn’t expect Theon’s head to fall on his shoulder a moment later, but when it happens he puts an arm around him, trying not to feel sick at the sight of the bruises on his face, and tries to think of a way they can both come back to New York without Theon’s family finding out or anyone in their neighborhood finding out. Which sounds already very improbable.

“Shit, I was worried sick,” he whispers a moment later.

“Well, thanks for the save,” Theon mutters back. “Looks like I really ain’t cut for that line of work, am I.”

“As if there was a doubt,” Robb snorts. And then he doesn’t even think about it – he just slips into their familiar banter and completely forgets someone else is around to hear it. “Fuck, you scared me shitless. Next time just give me some heads up or something, a mhuirnín,” he mutters, and then –

“ _How_ did you call him?” Arya shouts from the front.

Oh, _shit_.

“Arya –”

“Oh my God,” she says, but at least she sounds amused. “Oh my God, Sansa has been saying it for ages but I thought she was exaggerating. Oh my God, Robb, you could have said – I mean maybe not to Dad or Mom because, well, _because_ , but you could have!”

“Arya, don’t –”

“Wait, what, what’s so special about it?” Theon says, and –

“… What do _you_ think it means,” Arya replies after a moment of silence.

“Uhm, the first time he said it… he swore he was calling me an idiot?”

_Shit_.

“Oh. Robb, you complete – seriously?”

“Arya, how about we drop it.”

“For the love of – Robb, considering what you just did you should just say it. It’s fine. I won’t tell. _He_ won’t tell.”

“I don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about,” Gendry says as he drives on.

“Robb, what does that mean? Because I have an inkling that it’s not what you’ve been telling me it means.”

“It’s not,” Robb admits. “But I’m not going to tell you while you’re bleeding out on my car. I will. Later.”

Theon doesn’t press on and nothing else is said on the way to Jon’s place.

\--

Jon opens the door, sees them, shakes his head and lets them all in, telling Robb he can use the guest room and he’ll call home and come up with some lie to tell their parents about why the two of them would be _here_ for the next couple of days.

Robb is plenty thankful and through the next hour or so he helps Theon wash in the bathroom, good thing Jon has hot water, and after they’re done he cleans up the blood on his face and hands. He disinfects what looks like whip marks on his back while Theon doesn’t say a word before moving to the place where his left finger should have been. Then he does the same to his collarbone, changing the bandage and not asking Theon why there were two stripes of flayed skin underneath it, and he postpones talking about what went down in the car until they’re both sitting on the guest room’s bed, wearing a couple of spare pajamas of Jon’s that he left out for them – good thing they’re all the same size, more or less. Even if they’re larger on Theon than they should be.

Robb looks down at the now clean bandage Theon has around his left hand and figures it’s time to man up.

“It means _darling_ , not idiot,” he finally blurts out.

Theon’s eyes go so wide it would almost be comical if only it was everything but.

“Wait,” Thon says a moment later, “you’ve been calling me _darling_ for ten years?”

“That’s about it,” Robb admits.

“Oh,” Theon breathes in, looking back up at him, and – “Shit, seriously, ten years, can you be more – I just – Robb, you’re completely _bonkers_ , you could have said, you could have –”

“I could have _said_? Theon, I could have said _what_? I mean, I haven’t set foot in a church for years regardless of how pained it makes my mother, but when I used to, do you know how long it took me to decide that I didn’t care if every time I went there I had to hear that what I feel for you is wrong and will lead me straight to Hell or whatever was that drivel, every time? And what would have happened? I didn’t know how you’d react, I didn’t know how _I_ would react, sure as fuck your father would object to it more than my mom’s priest, and that’s saying a lot, and –”

“ _You_ ’re an idiot,” Theon cuts him. “Not about everything, but how _I_ would have reacted? Fuck, you really don’t – ah, shit, okay then,” he says, and Robb would want to ask what the hell is going on –

And then Theon moves forward and kisses him straight on the mouth, going all in without even a moment of hesitation even if he’s not overtly pushing it, and - Robb doesn’t waste time before hissing back, his hands going up to Theon’s face, angling it so that he has better access and just going all in as well. He has been wanting this for years, he’s not going to stop until they’re both breathless and he feels like he has made his point.

When they part they’re panting indeed, and Robb knows his cheeks are red, Theon’s are too, and –

“You complete – I’ve been wanting to kiss you since it turned out we were neighbors in New York, too,” Theon finally says, his voice slightly shaking. “And do you know why I was the only idiot in my family who liked living in Youghal? Do you think I had any friends before I met you? Shit, you really didn’t have a clue. I can’t believe you didn’t.”

“No,” Robb whispers, not sure if he can even put a sentence together properly, his fingers wrapping around Theon’s, “but – well. Yeah. I guess I could have suspected it. But I just –”

“I know, I know. Damn, now that makes things just more complicated, doesn’t it.”

“Maybe,” Robb sighs, leaning back on the bed and bringing Theon down with him, “but if you think I have a problem with it, you’re wrong.”

He can think about the fallout in the morning, he decides as Theon moves his head so that it lies in the crook of his neck.

\--

Turns out that he can’t rest at all, and that’s why he’s wide awake when Theon starts trashing against him, muttering under his breath that _you can take your reek and shove it up your ass_ and _that’s not my name_ , and he’s wide awake as he shakes Theon’s shoulders and sees the utter look of terror in his eyes as he wakes up, too, and he’s definitely sleep deprived when he speaks a few minutes later, his fingers running through Theon’s hair.

“You know,” he says, “I haven’t taken a day of leave in years.”

“I don’t have any leave,” Theon mutters, still dripping cold sweat against his collarbone. “What’s the point?”

“Maybe – maybe I could phone the precinct, telling them I want to go home for a bit. And you could come with. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t save up any money.”

“Wait, when you say _home_ you mean –”

“I mean go back to Eochaill, not Hell’s fucking Kitchen. Just – a month, a month and a half? Things would cool down here, people wouldn’t be on the lookout for the both of us, and maybe when we come back we could just, you know, move to Brooklyn. I’m told it’s quieter on the front of… well, criminals shooting at each other and holding grudges. We wouldn’t know anyone there.”

“Shit,” Theon says, moving back, “that sounds way too nice to be a realistic option.”

“No one has to know when we come back except maybe my family,” Robb says. “And I don’t really care. I mean. I had to move out at some point. And maybe it’s better that I’m not there anymore in case someone wants to target me.”

At that, Theon’s eyes go slightly narrow as he stares straight at him. “Wait. Wait, you weren’t just saying it hypothetically.”

“I was serious?”

“Do you really think there’s a chance in hell this won’t blow up in our faces?”

“Maybe. I’m willing to try, though. What do you say?”

Honestly, he’s maybe being too optimistic. A part of him is saying that there is no way this will turn out the way he’s hoping for, and Theon should be fairly more skeptical about it than Robb is. But then Theon moves up in his space and says, “I say it’s the one thing I ever wanted,” and Robb feels like he can’t really answer, not when a lump has appeared in his throat all of a sudden. He reaches up, puts a hand on Theon’s bruised cheek, careful to keep the touch light.

“Guess what,” he tries to joke, even if it falls somehow flat, “it’s the two of us. So, do we try?”

“I say why not,” Theon replies, and Robb decides that however it ends giving it a try will be worth it.

 

End.


End file.
